


Introspection

by Caffeine_and_CompSci



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2020-11-27 09:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20946050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffeine_and_CompSci/pseuds/Caffeine_and_CompSci
Summary: Deke is not having a good time in the past. His grandfather is such a prick and he just doesn’t understand what he did wrong.When they get nabbed on a supply run, it seems like he’s finally going to find out.





	1. The Capture

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Fitz has been through a lot over the series and he’s kind of a dick to Deke. And Deke gets all kicked puppy and sad. 
> 
> I really want someone to just explain that Fitz wasn’t always the surly engineer he is now. He used to be that fun, lighthearted, and adorable nerd we all loved back in season 1. 
> 
> Then I got to thinking that Deke needed to do more than just HEAR about it, he needs to SEE it. And that’s where this story comes from. 
> 
> Please be gentle in the comments. I’m still new to this :)

The first thing he became aware of was the pounding in the back of his head. After that it was the soreness of his wrists where they were chained together. Then it was the familiar tang of copper and grime that burned his nostrils. A clanking sounded from his left.

“Bloody hell,” came Fitz’s familiar groan. “Of bloody course we were captured on a bloody supply run!”

_Great. I’m trapped here with Bobo the unfriendly grandpa. _

Fitz was probably the worst person to have around in one of these situations. _Anyone_ would have been _dramatically_ more badass than the scrawny, surly engineer he had the displeasure of calling “Grandpa.”

On the plus side, at least Deke had been in situations like this before. It would be up to him to get them out of this mess while his grandpa whined about how it was so unfair and pointless.

_Why is this version of Bobo so awful? _

Although he’d had to deal with murderous blue alien tyrants back in the dystopian hellish version of the lighthouse, his version of Bobo had loved him. That Bobo was a sweet, caring man who showed Deke the basics of being a mechanic. He was kind, friendly, and most importantly, he loved Deke.

Now he was trapped in the future with this pale imitation of the grandfather he’d always loved.

_Why does this Bobo hate me so much? Why is he so mean and dismissive all the time? _

Deke missed _his_ Bobo. The one who bounced him on his knee and helped rig his belt buckle. Deke understood being an asshole to survive. He’d done it his whole life. He’d sold Daisy into slavery to save his own skin for heaven’s sake.

But what did this Fitz have to complain about? He lived in this bright, beautiful world where people loved him. Deke never had that.

Deke was engaging in a moment of self pity and mentally cataloging his resources when the heavy metal door of the room slammed open.

Heavy boots strolled into the room.

_Why does every evil dude walk at the same pace? _

Deke turned his face up at their captor and kept his face impassive. Experience had taught him to avoid offending powerful people.

Unfortunately his grandfather hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing?” snipped Fitz’s Scottish accent.

Deke shot an alarmed look at his grandfather, hoping that his eyes screamed with his subconscious.

_SHUT UP!!! _

Unfortunately, he had not miraculously developed telepathy and Fitz continued to mouth off.

“—What do you want from us?!” Deke caught the end of Fitz’s tirade.

Their captor chuckled, a deep rolling sound. He was decked out in full tactile gear and under any other circumstances Deke would’ve called him ‘tall, dark, and handsome.’

“According to our sources, you two are high level SHIELD operatives. Our employer is interested in finding out what you know.”

“We don’t know anything!” Deke burst out, pleading with their captors, trying to put on a show.

“Well, you don’t know anything,” came Fitz’s voice from beside him.

_What the hell is he doing?!_

Deke shot a glance at his grandfather, ready to tell him that _this was not the time to brag about his superior intelligence. _

Then he saw the glint in Fitz’s eye.

_Oh no. _

“He’s an eyewitness from our latest op. Completely useless. Thick in the head he is. We were just about to wipe his memories and dump him. He’s not SHIELD. He’s not anything.”

_Ouch, grandpa. Way to rub it in. _

“Me on the other hand,” Fitz’s voice slowed down, the tenors getting deeper, more dangerous. “I’ve been in SHIELD for years. I’ve faced things that give monsters nightmares. And trust me-“ Fitz spit at their captor’s feet. “-I’ll never tell you anything.”

The captor leaned over Fitz, bringing their faces inches apart. The captor broke into a smile and rocked back on his heals. Taking a few steps back and keeping his gaze fixed on Deke’s grandfather.

“Oh I don’t need you to tell us anything.” the stranger pulled a sheet off of what Deke had presumed to be a table in the corner.

_That definitely isn’t a table. _

The object was shaped like a bed with a ring around where the sleeper would rest their head. The entire thing seemed to be made of a single piece of white plastic.

_A Kree memory machine. _

Deke had seen one of these before in the SHIELD files he’d “gained access” to earlier. They were supposed to be absurdly painful, torturing the responses out of a person. He shot another glance at Fitz. He seemed resigned, as if he’d expected it.

Deke knew that expression.

_Fitz had known. He knew about the machine. _

It wasn’t such a huge leap. Fitz has worked on the memory machine before. He’d likely recognized it when they woke up.

Fitz had just volunteered for torture.

_Why did he do that? _

“You probably recognize this, don’t you?” the man was still grinning, circling the machine and running a hand alongside it.

“The memory machine. Rather rudimentary technology, don’t you think? It doesn’t allow us to see your memories, relying on you to orally tell us what you’re seeing. But we fixed that. See, if we connect this to your heads and the framework at the same time, we get to relive your memories.”

_Asshole. Asshole. Asshole. _

“Of course, we never figured out how to lessen the pain emitted by the memory machine. Ah well, perhaps the pain will help guide us. Your most painful memories should still be full of lots of secrets.”

Deke struggled against his bonds as they strapped a neural headset onto his head and a more complicated version to Fitz’s.

The last thing he heard before everything went dark was Fitz’s agonizing scream.


	2. The Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Child and spousal abuse.

It was still dark, but Deke knew he was conscious. Even his dreams didn’t smell  _ this bad . _

He put his arms out in front of him, trying to feel out his surroundings. His hand connected with wood and the cabinet he was in slammed open. 

Deke carefully climbed out into what seemed to be a cottage. The smell of mildew and dampness flooded his nostrils. It was small, the entire house was one room not much bigger than his room back at the lighthouse. His surroundings were old, dark, and run-down, indicating that the residents were likely poor. 

The house was silent except for the eerie sound of wind chimes wafting in through the open kitchen window. 

Deke examined his surroundings, his survival instincts taking charge like they had all his lift. 

A bell chimed like the one he’d heard when he went shopping for his grandparents’ rings and the door swung open. A little boy, no more than six years old stumbled up the steps, clinging to his mother’s hand and chattering excitedly. 

The woman was worn, but kindly. The lines on her face reminded Deke of his own mother, they painted a picture of a good but hard life. Her chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulders and she wore an old, faded blue dress and an apron around her waist. She listened to her son’s ramblings with a smile on her face, obviously basking in he sound of his voice rather than following what he was saying. She was obviously one of those diner waitresses from Mack’s old movies. 

If the woman reminded Deke of his mother, the little boy was definitely him. Their coloring was different- the boy having reddish curls and Deke having straight dark hair- but their features were identical. 

He was the picture of innocence and childlike joy. A wide grin stretched across his face and he had a bounce in his step. The hand not holding onto his mother was gesturing animatedly as he chattered on. 

“— and that’s why it’s so genius! The solution helps negate the charges so that—“

On second thought the boy’s “ramblings” were really quite advanced for his age. He was bringing up theories and concepts that Deke was still having trouble understanding, describing past experiments and scientists he’d never heard of.

_Fitz. _

Of course! He was in Fitz’s memories. According to his grandmother, one would inhabit the body of their virtual counterpart union being plugged in. Fitz must’ve been shot back into the body of his younger self and since Deke was yet to exist, he took on a completely new form. 

On the other hand, Jemma had also said you would be in control of your avatar. Perhaps Fitz’s childlike actions were the result of being hooked up to the memory machine? 

Deke was theorizing about the science behind it as Fitz climbed up onto the counter and his great grandmother— god this was a weird day— filled a pot with water to boil. 

Deke sat on the floor, his back against the wall as he soaked in the domesticity. The smell of sunshine lurked underneath the odor of mildew. The sound of laughter overwhelming the eerie wind chimes. 

_This constituted a painful memory?_

Fitz must’ve had it easier than he thought. 

Deke’s thoughts were interrupted by the loud sputtering of an engine from outside. The machine backfired and made sounds that made the engineer in him (and apparently baby Fitz too) wince.

Fitz and his mother went deathly still for a second and the conversation halted. 

“Please don’t make me, mum” baby Fitz begged, clearly anticipating his mother’s next words. 

All the joy drained out of Fitz’s mother’s face and she shot a sharp look at her son. 

“Cupboard. Now.” She bit off. 

Fitz clambered off the counter and shot her another pleading look. “ Please_, mum. Please _don’t make me go.”

_ “Leopold, now_ _,”_ she begged, her tone desperate as her hands shook and a key jingled in the lock. 

Fitz’s shoulders slumped slightly and shook, but he ran over to the cupboard that Deke had woken up in, opened it, climbed inside, curled up in a ball, and shut himself in. 

_Huh. That’s strange. Why’s he hiding?_

The door slammed open and he saw Fitz’s mum take a deep breath, steady her hands, paste a smile on her face, and transfer some of the food she’d made onto a plate. 

A man stumbled in the door. 

Gruff, Scottish, and definitely drunk off his ass, the man slammed the door shut. 

Deke immediately tensed up. Although he hadn’t had to deal with many drunkards because there hadn’t been much alcohol on the lighthouse, he could still tell the man was dangerous. He was clearly not in control of himself. 

“Allison! Where’s my dinner?” his accent was so thick that Deke could hardly make out what he was saying. 

“Coming, Alastair,” she said sweetly, but not saccharine. There was a wary undertone in her voice that solidified Deke’s apprehension. 

Fitz’s mum, Allison apparently, walked over to where Alastair had sat on the sofa— the only piece of furniture in the living room aside from a small table. The man tore off his boots and threw them loudly on the floor. 

He held his hand out for the plate and Allison placed the food in his hand gingerly before kneeling down to collect his boots. The man started to talk about his day, his loud bellowing voice sounded rude in the formerly peaceful cottage. 

Deke was equal parts cautious and mesmerized. This was a snapshot into his heritage, his family history. On the other hand, this Alastair fellow seemed like bad news. 

He decided to go back to the cupboard and sit with baby Fitz. He walked over and tried to open the cupboard door. 

His hand went straight through. 

_Well. That’s different._

He still managed to climb into the cabinet and settled opposite to baby Fitz, the cabinet seemed to have enlarged in order to allow him room. It seemed that he could only touch surfaces if he intended to place weight on them. He couldn’t affect their positioning or state. 

_Intriguing._

“It’s because of the memory machine,” came a young voice. 

Deke started. “Are you talking to me?” he asked the young Fitz who was staring straight at him with a cherubic face. 

“Yes, you utter idiot,” the deceivingly cute face snapped in an all-too-familiar tone. 

_Ah. There’s Bobo._

“I think the memory machine is making it so that we must follow the pattern of the memory. We can’t do anything to affect the memory since it’s the past. It’s fixed in my head. You can’t touch things and I can’t change my behavior when around other figures from my memory. I think I can only see or talk to you when no one else is around,” Fitz continued, his words at odds with his appearance. 

Deke simply stared. “You were such a cute kid,” he finally managed to say. 

Baby Fitz facepalmed and sighed, exasperated. 

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from outside and the shattering of glass. Alastair yelled and Allison yelped. Deke jumped. 

“I hate this part,” whimpered Fitz, curling up further into the corner of the cupboard, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“What’s ‘this part?’” Deke asked, dreading the response. 

There was another loud crash, a thudding noise, a plea for mercy.

“He’s going to hurt her.”

The two boys sat in the cupboard in silence for a long while, listening to the heartbreaking onslaught outside. Deke considered sticking his head out to see what was happening, but deciding against it.

“Leopold!” his father beckoned, his voice thundering. 

Deke saw the moment Fitz was no longer able to see him and he reverted to the role of his younger self. 

Baby Fitz climbed out of the cupboard quickly. He stood with his shoulders hunched over and his eyes locked on the ground as he stood in front of his father. 

His mother lay off to the side. She was breathing, but Deke couldn’t tell if she was conscious. Blood spattered te floor and he could see the beginnings of bruises. 

_Slap!_

Alastair’s hand cracked against the side of Fitz’s face, demanding he turn away from his battered mother. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!”

Fitz nodded, straightening his shoulders and looking his father in the eye. “Yes sir,” he said, clearly still terrified, but doing an admirable job of hiding it. 

“I’m going to bed. I know your mother says you’re ‘special,’ but we just know that’s code for idiocy. I trust you have enough information to tidy this mess up?” It was phrased like a sentence, but the light uptick at the end made it clear the man wanted an answer. 

“Yes sir,” Fitz said promptly and clearly, obedient and attentive, clearly trying to please his father to avoid the abuse. 

“Good,” Alastair bit off. He lumbered over to the mattress in the corner and promptly fell asleep. 

“I’m killing time,” said baby Fitz as his form leaned over to check on his unconscious mother. Once he was certain she would be okay, he walked over to a closet and retrieved a mop and a broom, setting to work on the broken glass, ignoring how he wasn’t wearing shoes and the shards were cutting into his feet. 

“You’re what?” asked Deke, confused. 

“Killing time,” repeated the smaller version of Fitz. “There’s only a matter of time before the other members of the team find us so all I have to do is stall. The machine is only letting me relive painful memories, but these people want SHIELD secrets. I can keep them from getting those.”

Deke understood, trying to ignore how Fitz’s feet bled over the floors or how he winced every time his father snored too loudly. He was filled with a newfound respect for his grandfather, forced to relive his most painful memories, but still finding a way to make it work for him. 

“How long can you stall? How many non-SHIELD related painful memories can you have?” asked Deke. 

“I’ve been in pain far longer than I’ve been at SHIELD,” said the child. “Don’t worry. I should have plenty.”

Deke was astounded by the age behind those young eyes, the innocence and joy that had filled the boy when he’d arrived with his mother were nowhere to be seen. He looked ancient and burdened. 

Fitz was certainly loyal to SHIELD. He was also a survivor. Deke could relate to that. Over the next few weeks, he witnessed hundreds of accounts of domestic abuse. 

_Verbal abuse. Physical abuse. Psychological abuse. Alastair beating Allison. Alastair beating Fitz. Fitz cleaning up glass. Fitz pulling shards from his own arms with tweezers. _

Day in and day out, Fitz recalled a different traumatic memory and, in dedication to SHIELD, relived the pain that came along with it. 

Hours passed. Days. More pain. More trauma. Deke watched, helpless. 

He watched baby Fitz grow up until he was a preteen, suffering the abuse all the while. Five years.

Then something changed. 


	3. The Sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was gone for so long, school got really busy. I’ll probably be spotty for a while but in a few months I should be able to get into regular updates.
> 
> Warning: Child Abandonment

Deke was hunkered down against the wall again, waiting for Fitz and his mother to walk through the door and be faced with her another beat down. It felt like he’d been watching these days for an eternity. Fitz has aged since the memories started. He was now almost twelve years old.

Over time it had become more and more difficult for Fitz to break character and speak to him. On the last occasion, in the body of a 7 year old, Fitz had told Deke he was no longer able to fight the machine. Since then, he’d been living purely in his grandfather’s memories. No one could see him, nothing could touch him. He felt a familiar isolation creep up on him even as he was surrounded by people.

His time was mostly spent here in the cottage, watching Mama and Baby Fitz suffer at Alastair’s hands. On occasion he would follow Fitz to school and watch as the other kids tore at his clothes and ridiculed him, throwing his books on the ground and shoving him into walls, calling him weirdo and freak and idiot.

Maybe Fitz hadn’t had it as easy as he’d thought.

The lock jiggled and the bell jingled but this time only Fitz walked in, his mother nowhere to be seen.

_Where is she? _

Deke was worried. Fitz’s shoulders were slumped and he looked devastated. He tossed his backpack into a corner and dragged his feet over to the kitchen where he started going through the motions, placing a pot of water for boiling like his mother did everyday.

_What happened? _

Deke was about to go ask him when Fitz’s father walked in the door behind him. Alastair Fitz had not aged well. The man’s cruelty shone through his ever feature and made him appear bitter and agitated all the time.

The man sauntered into the cottage and Fitz noticeably tensed further, trying to make himself smaller in his father’s presence. 

Deke waited for the inevitable snap, for Alastair to lunge towards his grandfather, seize the small child and beat him bloody.

It never came.

Instead, Alastair opened a beer and chugged it. He went over to the bed in the corner and flopped down.

“Make breakfast before you leave in the morning, boy!” he called before rolling onto his belly, mumbling “useless idiot” into his pillow, and beginning to snore.

Fitz simply stood in the kitchen, the entirety of his 10 year old self started shaking violently as he shoved his fist in his mouth, trying to stop himself from crying loudly enough to wake his father.

_ Bobo. _

Deke’s thoughts were soft and concerned as they caressed the nickname in his head. Fitz took a sharp breath, seeming to compose himself in a way that a 5th grader should have no reason to know how to do.

He turned off the water—seemingly realizing he had no idea what to use it for—and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, wrapping it in foil and writing “breakfast” on the shiny foil in shaky, unsteady lettering.

Fitz threw the sandwich into the counter and stared at it for a long moment, obviously still struggling, before scooping up his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. He grabbed keys out of the bowl by the door and walked out the door, locking it behind him.

Deke felt a clenching in his gut as he sat against the wall where he’d sat and witnessed horrors for hours, days, years. Then every cell in his body screamed in agony and the world folded in on itself, causing intense vertigo like he’d never felt before. It was almost impressive how disorienting it made him. He’d grown up in space.

When the world righted itself again Deke was in a dingy room, smaller than the cottage. It smelled like antiseptic, a light murmur ran throughout the place, and he could hear the light beeping of machines.

_A hospital._

_I guess following Fitz is no longer optional._

Deke was in a chair in the corner of the room, facing a bed shoved in said corner. In the bed was Mama Fitz.

Her face was pale, lacking that rosy, sunny glow that usually shone from the depths of her soul. Her eyes were more sunken than usual and they remained stubbornly shut, not even flickering.

Fitz sat in the chair across the bed from him. He held one of his mother’s hands, a lost look on his still cherubic, young face.

“I’m going to fix this, Mum.”

Fitz peeled his hands off his mother’s and ran one of them through her hair, dropping a kiss on her forehead. Then he ambled over to the nurse’s station.

“What’s wrong with Allison Fitz?”

The nurses looked down at him. The youngest, looking no older than Deke, started to respond. “Sweetie, we can’t just give out—“

“Hush, Ari,” snapped a more matronly nurse. “That’s Leopold. He’s Allison’s son. He deserves to know.”

“But Nan, he’s just a boy,” the young one whispered harshly. “He shouldn’t be party to such things.”

“His mother’s all he’s got, Ariana.” 

_Apparently even strangers discounted Alastair’s humanity._

The matron turned back to Fitz and began to speak in low, soothing tones. She detailed the illness in scientific and simplified terms.

“What about treatment options?” Fitz asked, his voice coming out level and mature.

“The procedure is very simple, but I’m afraid the hospital administration won’t allow it unless you can produce the funds necessary to pay for it.” The nurse sounded sympathetic, as if there was nothing she could do, as if she hadn’t just put a price on Mama Fitz’s life. 

Deke wanted to punch her.

“How much?” There was Fitz again, seeming to ignore the patronizing sympathy in her voice.

The nurses shared a look, worried.

“10,000 Euros,” said the matron.

Fitz’s face fell, knowing he didn’t have that kind of money. Even if they did, his father would never allow him to spend it on his mother’s medical care.

Both of them looked wary, as if the boy was about to break into tears or beg them for his mother’s life. But Fitz simply stood up straight, thanked them both for their time, and walked out of the hospital.

When Deke opened his eyes again, he was back in the cottage. It was obviously the same day and he heard the jiggling of the lock followed by the jingling of the bell.

Little Fitz tumbled through the door and shut it behind him, locking it, before going to flick on the light.

Alastair was gone.

“Da?” he called, worried and wary, looking around. He looked as if he expected his father to jump out from behind the sofa and attack him.

There was no response.

Fitz noticed a note on the kitchen counter. His eyes locked on it and wouldn’t move as his feet involuntarily carried him towards it.

_Oh no. _

“Da?” came Fitz’s voice again, a little more frantic. His trembling hand latched onto the offending piece of paper and shakily unfolded it.

_ Oh please no._

Alastair’s handwriting was awful and Allison could never understand it. Fitz could usually figure it out so he read them aloud for his mother. Deke knew this from watching them, but he still prayed.

_Please don’t read it out loud. I don’t want to hear this. Allison isn’t even here to hear it._

Ignoring his pleas, Fitz’s childlike voice stumbled through the note out of habit.

“There’s nothing left for me here. Useless dying wife and useless idiot child. I’m taking the car and the savings. Fend for yourself if you can.”

_That’s it?_

Deke was astounded. Four sentences? That’s all it took for Alastair to abandon his entire family? That’s all that was left behind?

The note didn’t show hate or apology. It didn’t show pain or burden or stress.

It was simply apathetic. It didn’t care.

Deke wasn’t sure which was worse.

All at once Deke began to feel more sympathy for Fitz and the way the mechanic had treated him since arriving at the lighthouse. The man had so little light and love in his life.

Even Deke had his mother and grandparents when he was growing up. His father might’ve been obsessed with prophecies, but he _had_ loved them.

Fitz was given an awful metric as to how one was supposed to treat family. He had suffered and endured. It was only logical that he came out jaded.

It made Deke feel a kind of kinship with him.

He watched baby Fitz cry, crumpling to the ground and sobbing his eyes out until his voice gave out and he was simply shaking silently.

Deke watched for a long while before Fitz finally stopped shaking as the sun was coming up. He watched the boy stare off into the distance for an hour before wiping his face and strengthening his shoulders.

Fitz pushed himself off the ground, his expression becoming determined. 

In any other situation he might’ve been tempted to laugh at such an expression painted on a child so young.

Fitz started jumping across the cottage, striking his heels into the floorboards.

_ He’s lost it._

Fitz’s next kick made a hollow noise. Fitz pried a floorboard off the ground and retrieved a glass jar filled with rolls of bills. Old sharpie read “Leo’s College Fund” in Allison’s neat script on the side of the jar.

_Go Baby Fitz. _

He watched as Fitz counted the money.

7,500 Euros.

He was short. 

Fitz tucked the money back into the floorboard and started walking around the room, stopping every once and a while to mutter numbers under his breath.

Deke’s heart lightened.

_ I know that look._

It was the look he’d seen in his mother every time she’d scrounged up extra rations on his birthday. It was the look he’d seen on his Bobo when he was pouring over papers with advanced equations.

Fitz had an idea. 

The landscape blended again and suddenly he was on the lawn of the cottage. The few possessions the family had was dragged out and lain on the grass and there was a considerable crowd walking about.

Their mattress. Their sofa. Their pots. Their refrigerator. Their pans. Their jars. The washboard. Their baking tins. 

Fitz was selling everything.

_ An eleven year old selling all his family’s possessions. Ha! _

Curiously, Deke drifted through the front door and saw that there was nothing left in the cottage except a single pan on the kitchen counter. It was the pan that Fitz’s mother always boiled water in. Part of the daily routine.

Dusk fell and the neighbors gradually departed, leaving Fitz to count his earnings.

2,400 Euros.

100 short.

_Shit. Now what?_

Fitz didn’t seem discouraged. He went inside, hid the money with the rest and grabbed his house keys.

The next few days Deke watched as his grandfather took a series of odd jobs. The eleven-year-old cut and hauled lumber, swept floors, did dishes, walked dogs, and even worked fields. The labor was a constant source of injuries and those (along with Mama Fitz’s hospitalization) were probably why this still counted as a “time of intense pain”). For all the things Fitz could do as a child, he didn’t do three things.

He didn’t sleep, choosing to pass out at his mother’s bedside for an hour or two between jobs. 

He didn’t eat, choosing to save his money for the treatment. Luckily Nan the nurse gave him a bit of broth whenever she was on call, but Fitz fed most of it to his mother.

He didn’t go back home. 

Deke knew he had the keys. The boy would pull them out every once and a while to fiddle with. But he would always shove them back into his pocket with that same bitterly determined look that was disconcerting to see on a child.

He could understand, in theory, why Fitz might not want to return to the empty house where he’d shed blood and tears for as long as he could remember. It reminded Deke of the lighthouse. It might’ve been his home but it was also a prison. It made sense why Fitz would not return if he could help it. 

Within a few days, Fitz had made up the difference. He returned to the little cottage on the outskirts of town and pulled out all the money. It was all in coins and small bills, making the load rather heavy, but Fitz bore it well. He carefully stacked all the money into the pot he’d kept on the counter and lugged it to the hospital.

_Clunk! _

The pot of money landed squarely on the nurse’s counter, Nurse Nan’s startled but warmed as she looked up to see young Leopold Fitz standing before her.

“10,000 Euros?” She asked, the question in her voice came out amused and proud.

“10,000 Euros,” Leopold affirmed. “One operation please.”


End file.
